After halftime, both sides silently switched to their substitute lineups. Under Chen Yilun's special attention, LaVine was moved up to the point guard spot.
This kid had been acting strangely lately—no dribbling practice, no passing drills—just charging headlong down the path of becoming a 3-and-D player.
For a late-lottery rookie, willingly playing a supporting role would normally be a good sign. But Chen Yilun had a sharp eye—letting LaVine settle into a 3-and-D role would be like using a cannon to kill a mosquito. No way. That had to be corrected.
Besides, on the Kings right now, CJ was the only true ball handler. The original secondary playmaker, Thornton, had already been traded to the Cavaliers. Looking across the roster, the only other player who could even try the secondary point guard role was LaVine.
LaVine slowly brought the ball to the top of the key. His fellow rookie, Jokić, stepped up to set a screen, completely sealing off Mills, his defender. Seeing this, LaVine took a dribble forward, then noticed Splitter—Jokić's defender—still planted in the paint with no intention of stepping out.
What, he's not even taking me seriously?
With an open shooting lane in front of him, a thought flashed through LaVine's mind.
Alright then—I won't hold back.
He bent his arms, rose up straight, and let fly a clean, two-motion jumper. The ball traced a perfect arc toward the rim.
"That was way too easy for the Kings," Kenny Smith frowned from the booth. "If a bottom-feeder made a defensive mistake like that, it'd be understandable. But the Spurs—last season's champions and the league's best defense—making that kind of error? That's hard to justify."
Before Kenny's words had even faded, the sideline referee signaled a Spurs timeout.
"Huh?"
A glance at the clock made even the veteran Kenny Smith chuckle. "A timeout just twelve seconds into the second half? That's Pop for you—stubborn as ever."
But over on the Kings' bench, Mike Malone and Chen Yilun weren't smiling. Popovich's early timeout might have looked random at first glance, but it sent a dangerous message.
Even with a 22-point lead, even on the very first possession of the half, the old man still demanded perfection—every defensive rotation sharp, every pass crisp and purposeful.
Facing an opponent like that was terrifying.
"Oden, get ready," Malone murmured as he walked over.
The towering Oden shivered slightly, then answered calmly, "Okay, Coach."
Casspi, sitting beside him, glanced over curiously.
A hidden fire burned in Oden's eyes as he locked onto every movement on the court—like a predator finally let loose. The long-awaited return of his health had his body, suppressed for years, itching to explode.
"I won't screw this up," Oden whispered to himself.
Sure enough, a few possessions later, Malone subbed out Jokić for Oden. At that moment, the Spurs' bench, led by the "French Magician" Boris Diaw, was humming. The Kings' rookie duo of Jokić and LaVine had kept fighting to keep the score within reach, but they were still down 76–58, trailing by 18.
"The Kings swapped out Jokić for Oden. Why?" Charles Barkley rubbed his smooth head in confusion from the booth.
The Kings had just trimmed the deficit a bit, and taking out Jokić—their best distributor in the paint—looked like a big blow to their ball movement.
But Barkley soon fell silent.
LaVine crossed half court, spotted Oden firmly posted near the paint, and fed him the ball. Oden took a deep breath and began to back Diaw down.
It felt to the Frenchman like he'd been hit by a bulldozer. His feet gave way, and he took a step back. Seeing the space open, Oden took a big stride, spun to face the basket, and lofted a soft hook—nothing but net.
Next possession, the Spurs missed, and backup center Aron "Bangers" Baynes set up for the offensive rebound. But just as the ball was dropping, a huge black hand appeared above his head—Oden, boxed out moments earlier, had simply jumped over him to grab the defensive board.
Baynes was still wondering how the hell he grabbed that when the Kings came down the court again. This time, LaVine lobbed it high, and Oden muscled past Baynes and Diaw, rose up, caught the alley-oop, and slammed it down with both hands.
"Wow! Did I just see that?"
Barkley shot up from his chair, clutching his head. "Has anyone ever seen this? A prodigy everyone had written off, suddenly back in the spotlight today!"
Oden didn't hear him. With two quick scores under his belt, "Big O's" confidence surged. Against the softer-playing Diaw, everything lined up perfectly.
The rest of the third quarter turned into Oden's personal highlight reel. He owned the paint, scoring at will. Diaw's passes grew sloppy, his "magic wand" seemingly gone.
Malone seized the chance, running the offense through Oden again and again, hammering the Spurs' defense.
"Pop, should I…?" Tim Duncan, watching the game unravel from the bench, leaned over.
"No. Not yet." Popovich crossed his arms, eyes fixed on the court.
"If you go in now, you'll walk right into that kid's trap. He wants you to steady the ship and burn your energy early, so he can send in his starters to close it out."
Popovich's gaze locked on Oden. "This kid's got something. He even managed to bring Oden back from the brink."
It was no wonder Pop was surprised. As the original "Emperor," Oden had once gone ahead of Durant as the number one pick in his draft class. When he fell, plenty of teams tried to revive him—but every trainer came to the same verdict: too many injuries, an irreparable leg imbalance. His fall was inevitable.
"You need your energy for Cousins. Don't waste it now."
"So what do we do?" Duncan asked, wide-eyed.
"We wait," Popovich said firmly. "Pray Bangers Baynes and the others can hold."
But prayer wasn't enough. Bangers Baynes couldn't withstand the fury of an Oden who'd been caged for almost a year.
Oden pounded the paint like an unstoppable beast, each collision jolting Baynes to his core. No matter how hard he fought, Baynes couldn't slow Oden's march to the rim.
Thud!
The rim groaned under Oden's dunk.
At some point, the once-roaring ARCO Arena fell silent. Kings fans stared, wide-eyed, at the court, barely believing what they were seeing.
The supposed "bench warmer" was dismantling the Spurs' proud second unit. Many season-ticket holders—fans who'd followed the team for decades—couldn't recall anything like it. Even in the long history of the league, this was surreal.
"Is this really… our team?" an elderly fan with graying temples muttered, eyes locked on Oden.
"This makes no sense! Last season in Miami, Oden was a disaster. How could he turn into the complete opposite in just one year?" Barkley scratched at his nonexistent hair.
He wasn't the only one baffled. Other commentators were equally at a loss.
"Could Sacramento really be magic? Could something this unbelievable actually happen?"
Those questions would have to wait. Right now, Oden was in full stride, pounding the Spurs' frontcourt over and over.
In just half a quarter, the Kings erased what had been a 22-point deficit. When the buzzer sounded, the gap had shrunk to 85–80—Spurs by just five heading into the final quarter.
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